As a Result
by Marauder and The Q
Summary: Johnny never spoke to girls much.


**A/N: **I'm a little liar, I know. I say I'll do _this, _and I really do _that_. But the fact of the matter is that, as you can see, this is, indeed, an update of sorts, and I apologize for going AWOL and repeatedly promising to update. 

Anyway, I didn't try to produce a compelling masterpiece. I'm just getting back into this whole thing, and this is very laid back--I think it shows. I also think it shows that it took all of five minutes to write. Consider this a snapshot, and know that suggestions will be considered. I may not be trying too hard this time, but I'm always up for improving my work.

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"Don't you start tryin' any of your tricks with him. I'd suggest you get your ass in gear and move along 'fore I personally beat the tar out o' you."

Sylvia's eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to protest—and her hands twitched suspiciously, as if she wished to slap Steve—but Steve cut her off.

"I don't care if you're Dally's girl. The way I hear it, neither of you are strangers to that approach, anyway. Now, I don't want to have to say it again."

The showdown was brief—not even a foot of space between the two of them as they stared dead-on at each other—until Sylvia huffily took off, disappearing into the dancing, drinking, laughing mass of partygoers.

Steve allowed himself a brief smirk before turning to Johnny, who was trying very hard to sink into the corner that he had been trapped in by Sylvia only moments before. It was a strange sight: a tough-as-nails greaser all but huddled in a corner, attempting not to look as uncomfortable as he felt but only half-succeeding. (After all, of course, girls were much different than Socs—and girls were much more intimidating and confusing.)

With a sigh, Steve grasped Johnny's shoulder and ducked into an empty room just away from the party, pulling Johnny with him.

Johnny's eyes widened in uncertainty as he was lightly nudged onto the bed, but he sat anyway.

Steve shut the door, glanced around the small bedroom in which they were situated, and perched himself on the desk across from the bed. The only light in the room came from the cloudy window and from under the door, until he felt around for a lamp and switched it on.

"Johnny, a sneaking little broad like that'll get you into a lot of trouble," he began. "You know that, right?"

Johnny nodded meekly, studying the pale reflections in the window.

"So why didn't you tell her to scram?"

Johnny shrugged.

Steve almost rolled his eyes, but then remembered who he was talking to—or _at_, more appropriately—and refrained. After all, it was Johnny…

"I know you got it in you," Steve said slowly, almost encouragingly, "so, if there's a next time, you just tell her 'xactly what she can do with that pout of hers."

Johnny did not look too wild about that idea, and Steve caught on—he was pretty sure he knew why.

"You know that girl won't take a hint 'less you throw it at her," Steve reasoned. "Trust me—a tough breeze like that'll slap you as soon as actually be hurt, but at least she'll be out o' your face."

Steve ran his hand through his hair, irritated at Johnny's silence, and then more annoyed because he had momentarily forgotten the nearly ten minutes he had spent getting fixed up for the party—and he had messed up his carefully styled hair to show for it. He swore quietly and pulled a small comb from his back pocket, simply combing his hair back to get it out of his face, deciding to get it back to its original state in the bathroom later where there was actually a mirror.

As he fixed his hair, he wondered aloud why Johnny could stand up for himself in the face of violence, or for his friends, but treated girls as a whole 'nother matter.

Johnny did not even respond to _that_, and so Steve resigned himself to a lecture that, occasionally, made Johnny blush, and made Steve curse in recollection.

"Uh… thanks, Steve," Johnny said, finally, after sitting stunned for a good two minutes following the end of Steve's homily. More quietly, he added, "I think…"

Steve patted Johnny on the shoulder and opened the door, exiting the room with a cocky, knowing grin on his face, his mood elevated slightly.

He spotted Two-Bit entertaining the half-drunk host, some Joey something-or-other, and made his way over to his surprisingly sober friend—it was a party, after all.

Two-Bit produced a beer from seemingly out of nowhere and handed it to Steve, who blinked but accepted it, spying a church key on a nearby table and opening the drink.

"You're never gonna believe what that girl of Dally's was up to this time…"

Two-Bit took a swig of his own beer, then nodded. "I'd believe it."

Steve chuckled dryly to himself. "Yeah, well, just wait 'til Dally finds out."

"Tell me, already."

From across the room, awkwardly entwined with someone unfamiliar but definitely not her boyfriend, Sylvia glanced at Steve, wrinkling her nose in distaste, and defiantly returned to her new friend.

Steve raised his eyebrows and turned to Two-Bit to relate the story, emphasizing Johnny's comment—after all, the kid had talked.

Now, just to get him to talk if Sylvia didn't know any better…

"You think you may have traumatized him?" Two-Bit wondered idly, after hearing excerpts of Steve's lecture.

Steve shook his head. "He needed it."

Two-Bit laughed. "Man, I've got to give me one of those talks. Lord knows, _someone_ should benefit from my wisdom."

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End file.
